Try Not to Breathe
by dreams of infinities
Summary: Everybody freezes sometimes. / A series of drabbles and short one-shorts that focus on when they do. Accepting prompts and requests. / Chapter 11: Lincoln - "Everyone goes through phases, and this is his."
1. close the door (May i)

**A/N:** Hi again! This is just a series that I can work on whenever I want to - instead of having to really need to update or whatever, I can leave this marked as complete but keep adding in more. Prompts and requests are happily accepted, and I'd really appreciate it if you left a review. The title of this fic is taken from the R.E.M. song _Try Not to Breathe_.

I'd say steer clear from this story if you haven't watched Season 3 yet and don't want any spoilers.

Thanks!

* * *

 **MAY I**

 **CLOSE THE DOOR**

She slams the door shut behind her. She can't breathe.

She _can't breathe_.

This is wrong, this is all so completely wrong. Why is this happening? How can this be happening, and why does it have to happen here, and to her? She hates herself for wishing it, but if it was happening on the other side of the world then she wouldn't have to care. SHIELD isn't a global organisation any more. They can barely scrape together enough money for fuel to get them across the state, so how would they manage to get across entire oceans.

 _Breathe,_ Melinda. _For God's sake, breathe._

She's shaking so badly that she can't even move. She's just leaning against the closed door, shaking and trying to breathe and _oh crap she's crying and she never cries and she hasn't cried since -_

Bahrain.

She hasn't cried since Bahrain and now she's crying because -

 _Andrew -_

Crap.

Andrew Garner is _Lash_. He is a monster, a monster that runs around killing innocent people who don't even know what's happening to them, just for the hell of it ... He tried to kill Skye. And Lincoln. And he has actually succeeded in killing _so many_ of them already, and now? Now, he's inside SHIELD, and he's interviewing Inhumans right now. He's going to _kill_ all of the people May has been fighting _so damn hard_ to protect and for what? Why does he even need to do that? Does he just get _hungry_ or something?

She really is crying now. She still can't breathe properly. She knows she has to get out there and tell everyone, but she - she can't. She looks up at the mirror and that's _her_ face right there, red and blotchy and puffy-eyed. She can't exactly face them all like this, can she?

Someone tries to open the door she is leaning against, which is both awkward and hideously painful. She jumps, surprised.

"Oops," says Hunter on the other side of the door. "Sorry."

She says nothing.

"May? Is that you?"

She draws in a breath but it's shuddery and too loud and she thinks he heard because he waits a few beats and then says, "I'm just ... going to go now. Bye."

When his footsteps have echoed away, she slides down until she's sat on the floor. She rests her pounding head on her knees.

 _Stop crying._

It's her inner voice that brings her back, the one that scares off emotion and stops her from smiling or laughing or crying at all, ever. It's her inner voice that saves her, stops her from falling back down into the void of emotion.

May panics alone, and she recovers alone.

When she walks out of that room, she walks out alone.


	2. every atom (Skye i)

**A/N:** I'm back! The first few chapters might come up more quickly than others, I'll say. My updating times are wildly unpredictable.

This chapter is set in Season 1, where they're all sweet and happy and fly around saving people instead of killing them and stuff. It's set after Skye ( _Daisy_ ) kills her first person, which wasn't shown but I think ought to have been.

Many thanks to quinnovative for taking the time to review, and to those who followed and added this story to their favourites list. Please leave a review to let me know what you think - even if it's just to say who you'd like to see next.

Thanks!

 **TRY NOT TO BREATHE**

 **2**

 **EVERY ATOM**

It seems strange to Skye that even though every atom in the universe is humming and vibrating, her hands were perfectly steady when she looked at that man and shot him in the face.

And sure, she knows that _his_ hands sure as hell wouldn't shake if he shot _her_ in the face, and she thinks he'd probably kind of enjoy it because one of her favourite things to do is irritate people until she drives them half insane, and she wasted no time in doing that to him. And of course he actually was about to kill her - she knows this because she can't force the sound of Ward screaming her name out of her head, and he wouldn't freak out for nothing - but that doesn't change much. She's still guilty.

She's still killed another human being.

And the worst thing is, she couldn't even do it _well_. He's probably looking down on her from hell right now, laughing despite the fact that he's condemned to a miserable eternity of fire, because his face is implanted in her mind now. She thought that the adrenaline rush would come, and she'd feel safe and relieved and not _good_ , but ... not this.

It was one of those split-second decisions. She saw him raise his gun and - _bam_ \- she kind of lifted hers up from her side and pulled the trigger. The awkward angle made the recoil jar her wrist and now it's beginning to swell, but she doesn't have the heart to go and see Simmons about it, so she's just keeping it really still and pretending it doesn't hurt. She'll take some Tylenol later, maybe, and help the swelling go down a bit. Anyway, she didn't specifically aim for his face, but that's where the bullet went and she shot him and some of his blood splattered on her face and she just _stood_ there ...

As soon as he was dead Ward ran over and put a hand on her back and started asking if she was okay but she just felt her hand go loose and the gun fell down. "I guess I'm a murderer now, huh," she said, kind of dreamily, and now she's kicking herself because she can't even remember if she picked up the gun. What if they find her fingerprints? SHIELD makes that stuff go away, she knows, but will they waste time and resources on a consultant that Coulson picked up from somewhere? What if they just cast her out?

The worst thing is, she can't even cry. Crying has always been something of a therapeutic ritual to her, something to letout all the emotion, to let go, but she can't even _begin_ to process what she's just done.

Her hands still aren't shaking. "Why are my hands not shaking?" she whispers. She's not much one for talking to herself, but these are desperate measures, she reasons.

The last thing Skye is expecting is to hear a quiet knock on the door of the black SHIELD car she's hiding in. She's so shocked she opens it to see who's there.

It's Ward.

"Hey," he says. "Can I come in?"

She nods mutely and shifts over.

"Coulson told me I might find you in here," he tells her, closing the door carefully behind him.

"I haven't cried," she murmurs. "My hands aren't shaking now, and they weren't then." Then she says, "Am I a monster."

"No, no. You're not a monster at all. You're just scared." He takes her hand in his. "Skye, they're shaking like crazy."

She frowns. "What?"

"Your hands," he says, "are shaking like crazy."

"Oh."

She didn't realise. Now she thinks about it, they were on her lap when she was staring at them, and she was barely looking opal them she was so freaked out.

"It's okay to be guilty," Ward tells her. "I punched a wall and broke three fingers the first time I killed someone."

"At least you actually got a reaction from yourself," she says glumly.

"He was going to kill you. This is a tough world, Skye. It's kill or be killed, and if you hadn't acted so quickly, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He pauses. "What happened to your wrist?"

"The gun's recoil," she says distractedly.

"Look, if you want to be a field agent, you're going to have to kill people. It's okay if you don't," he sighed, making it obvious that he' manipulating her, "and we can stop, and it won't happen again. But this is something it's good to learn early."

He pulls the cap off a bottle of bourbon she hasn't noticed him holding and passes it to her. She smiles slightly and takes a sip.

"Pathetic," he says, takes it back, and takes the largest gulp she has ever seen anyone take at once. She finds herself laughing as he tries not to grimace.

He laughs too, then offers her the bottle again, but she shakes her head: once she starts, she might not be able to stop.

Then he opens the car door again and gets out. "You coming?" he asks.

Skye swallows. "Nah," she says, biting her lip. "Give me a few minutes."

Every atom in the universe is shaking, changing position.

She wonders if relationships are made of atoms.


	3. hold on tight (Hunter i)

**A/N:** I'm back! There isn't much to say about this chapter, but it's set after the Season 2 finale when Bobbi was shot. It's longer and different to the other two chapters, I'd say ...

Many thanks to those of you who followed and added this story to your favourites list, and my special thanks to quinnovative (again :D), and the two Guests who reviewed. To Guest (1), thank you for taking the time to read this story. I'm so sorry I didn't do a chapter from Simmons' point of view - I already had Hunter's one planned out so I did that one first. The next one will be about Simmons though! To the other Guest, I did forget that Gill was probably Skye/Daisy's first kill, but it was never mentioned that she could have killed anyone else, so I used a bit of creative license there. Thank you for reviewing anyway!

Thanks!

 **TRY NOT TO BREATHE**

 **3**

 **HOLD ON TIGHT**

 _Okay,_ he tells himself. _Okay. This is okay. She'll be okay._

But deep down he's not sure she will be, not when Simmons, who works with SHIELD's top remaining surgeons, flinched when she saw the blood and the oxygen ask and the way Bobbi's knee was all bloody and twisted up and wrong. And even though he knows that Coulson was dead and that Skye was in a coma she wouldn't wake up from and all that, he can't help but think that maybe Jemma's already used up all her miracles, on saving lives and getting out of some box on the floor of the ocean and working undercover at Hydra but still somehow managing to get out alive ...

How many miracles can a person have, and does this count as Jemma's or Bobbi's or Hunter himself's miracle if she pulls through?

The chair's too uncomfortable so he gets up and sits on the floor instead, but then he starts thinking about Bobbi, because she was on a chair and then she ended up on the floor, so he gets back up.

Then he feels bad because if she dies and this is her legacy, then it's not exactly a good one is it? And so he moves to sit back down on the floor but bloody hell, is he going insane? This stupid bloody chair is making him so stressed that he picks it up and throws it down again, and keeps on doing that until he realises that nothing at all has happened to the chair apart from the fact that it's a little dented but that his hands are swollen and bleeding, so he stops.

Fitz comes running in. "Are you all right?" he asks. "I heard crashes."

Hunter gestures helplessly to the chair, on its side on the floor, and shows Fitz his hands. They don't even _hurt_.

"Hell," Fitz says sympathetically, coming over. "You all right?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm brilliant, mate. Just bloody fine and dandy over here," he snaps back.

Fitz throws up his hands defensively. "Just trying to help. And here I thought" - he pulled up his top to reveal a tangle of bandages around his rib cage - "you might want to show off war wounds."

Hunter softens a bit. It's hard to say no to Fitz when he's in this sort of mood. He's so often quiet, introverted, angry at the world, that when he actually is relatively cheerful he's like an entirely new person. "None for me except self-inflicted ones, I think," he says, and then exclaims, "Jesus! Does this make me a self harmer?"

To his relief, Fitz shakes his head. "Nah. I think you probably have anger issues, though. You should try therapy maybe."

He snorts. "Thanks a lot. Us Brits are always there for each other, right? Sticking together in this sea of Yankees."

"I'm pretty sure that nobody's used the word Yankee since the Second World War, except when they're talking about candles. And don't say that."

"Say what?"

"'Us Brits'. It makes it sound like we're from the same _country_."

"Um, we basically are," Hunter says.

"I am _Scottish_. You are _English_. That basically means we're polar opposites."

"Well - "

"If I came from France, what would you call us?"

He decides that it's probably better not to say anything.

"Exactly!" Fitz continues, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the conversation he's having is entirely one-sided. "Scotland is not in England, and people just treat like it is! Does that not bother you in the slightest?"

"Hey, your country voted to stay with us, mate. We didn't even get a bloody say in the matter."

"But not everyone in the country did," Fitz says.

Here Hunter intervenes. "You were over here with SHIELD for the vote anyway. What does it matter to you?"

"I took leave and flew back over."

Hunter sighs and shrugs resignedly. "Fine. I'm going to go and find Simmons, then."

Fitz's mouth opens but he doesn't say anything.

"Oh my God, Simmons. _Bobbi_." He finds himself sinking to the floor with his head in his hands and his hands covering his eyes. _How could he forget her?_

He feels dizzy. He thinks he's swaying. Is he going to faint? He's never fainted before - passed out maybe, but never just fainted. It's strange and he's oddly distant, but he still feels sick. Fitz's comforting hand is planted on his back and it takes him a while to work out that the hand isn't comforting, it's pushing him down so that his head is between his knees.

"Okay?" Fitz asks, as though there's the slightest chance he might be.

"Hell no," Hunter replies with a grimace, sitting up. He's hit with a wave of nausea so strong that he goes back down again.

Bobbi. She was tortured and then she took a bullet meant for him and it was all because he wasn't there for her in the first place. What if he'd been there? What if he could have saved her?

His head feels light and he puts a hand on his forehead. It comes away slick with sweat. He laughs despite himself. "Shit."

"Well, yeah. Happens to the best of us."

"To you?" he can't help but enquire.

"Yeah," Fitz says. He doesn't say anything else for a while, but then he blurts out, "Jemma jumped out of the plane. She's probably told you the story. I was freaking out while it happened, but after I was fine. It was a few hours later that it hit me. Like a massive wave."

Hunter stands up uneasily. He feels unsteady, but well enough to lift the chair up and sit on it. His legs are shaking. He's still sweating.

"Look, do you want me to go and find out what's happening?"

"Yes, please," Hunter says gratefully.

Fitz leaves, but two seconds after he walks out through the door there are two muffled thumps, several exclamations of pain and a muffled apology. Fitz and Simmons walk back in together.

He stands up, his dizziness forgotten. The question is in his eyes.

"She's alive," she said. "She's lost a lot of blood and she still needs surgeries on the wound and there's a chance of internal bleeding and she's going to have scars not just from where she was shot but from the various torture techniques used on her. And it'll take months for her to walk again on that knee, and even then she'll need to stay out of action for a long time."

"But she's alive," he says dumbly.

"Looks like she held on tight enough," she says with a small smile.

And at that moment Hunter forgets everything and runs to her and hugs her and kisses her on both cheeks and then steps back, embarrassed. "You beautiful woman," he finishes, while Simmons stares at him and Fitz just shoots him an incredulous look.

"Can I see her?" he asks.

"She's sleeping, but of course."

And for the first time in days, things began to brighten up.


	4. theoretically (Simmons i)

**A/N:** Hi again! This chapter is dedicated to the Guest who requested it. Thanks so much for your support!

Thank you also to quinnovative, who has reviewed every chapter so far (you're amazing) and to those of you who followed and added this story to your favourites list. It means a lot to me.

This chapter is set sometime in middle-to-late Season 2, after the incident at the bottom of the sea. Fitz has almost recovered from his brain damage, but Simmons, well ... you'll have to find out, I suppose. Every review is greatly appreciated.

Thanks!

 **TRY NOT TO BREATHE**

 **4**

 **THEORETICALLY**

 _Philosophers, take notes. Jemma's here to overthink everything, once again._

It's true and she's not the only one who knows it. A mere whispered insult from her teenage school years has haunted her for nearly fifteen years now with its absolute accuracy, and she knows that although she shouldn't let something like that hurt her, not at this age, not with where she is now. With two PhDs and a long scientific career both behind and ahead of her, she should be flattered. It's basically her _job_ to overthink everything.

 _Boiling tubes ..._ where are all the boiling tubes? She asked Agent Sampson to tidy the supply cupboard last week, and it's looking as though he did a pretty bad job of it. In fact, as terrible as she feels for thinking it, he does a pretty bad job of everything. Spotting a glint of glass, she opens the drawer hopefully, but it's full of petri dishes. What has he d -

The door swings shut and suddenly

she

can't

breathe.

It's a one-way opening system, since you have to be pretty stupid to get shut in a closet. You can only open the door from the outside. The petri dish in her hand falls to the floor and smashes, and she stares at it, shocked. Her chest is moving up and down so fast she thinks she must be breaking some sort of seed record. She backs up against the wall.

Then she slides down to the floor.

She feels dizzy and lightheaded, probably from lack of oxygen.

 _Oxygen._

 _"One breath, but there's two of us."_

 _"Yeah, I've done the math. That's why you're taking it. You're the better swimmer anyway."_

 _"No."_

 _"Jemma - "_

 _"No."_

Stop it. Stop. You're not at the bottom of the ocean. You're -

 _"You're more than that, Jemma."_

There's a sudden pain in her hand, so sharp that she has to stop and stare at it. It takes her a while, with her blurred vision, to work out what all the red means, but when she does she can't bring herself to anything except push the broken petri dish away with her shoe.

She's shaking and crying now, too, and the walls are steadily moving closer.

She has to get out. She isn't in a box at the bottom of the sea. She's in a supply cupboard and despite all the hours of research she's done trying to find something to prove otherwise, she has PTSD and she knows it.

One, two, three times she calls for help, but nobody hears and nobody ever will.

 _She's going to die in here._

Now she really can't breathe. She's choking on oxygen itself, trying to get rid of it, because life would be so much easier if there was no such thing ...

The door opens again, just like that, but she can't move.

"Simmons? Is that y - ... Oh, my God, Jemma."

It's Fitz.

 _"This is going to force some air back into your lungs ... "_

He tries to take her in his arms but she claws at him and tries to push him away because hell, what if he tries to die for her again? But he keeps trying and he's too strong for her so she gives up and he holds her to his warm chest and she cries and cries and cries until she can breathe again.

Theoretically, she should have recovered now.

Life is rarely theoretical.


	5. ground control (Coulson i)

**A/N:** Hi! Sorry this is so late, I had a request for a chapter set after 3x17, but that one hadn't come out yet in the UK yet and since I didn't have any other ideas apart from a Fitz chapter that I want to put in later on, so I waited a week until it came out but then I got really busy and lost inspiration and stuff ... But I'm back now!

This is dedicated to alleemaria who requested a chapter "about Coulson and Daisy following the events of The Team" - thank you!

Also thank you to quinnovative, It's me get over it, and Guest. You guys are amazing!

The song at the end is _Space Oddity_ by David Bowie.

Enjoy the chapter and please review!

 **TRY NOT TO BREATHE**

 **5**

 **GROUND CONTROL**

No.

 _Daisy._

After _everything_ , everything they've been through, every moment they've shared, every time he's trusted her with SHIELD's secrets...

No.

He can't even feel his hands (well, hand) any more because they're pummelling on the door so hard, but it's no use because the door were made to withstand bombs and however strong his new hand might be it isn't strong enough to even make a dent in the unforgiving metal.

How can he not have noticed? What kind of insanity does it take for a man to completely miss the fact that one of the people _closest_ to him is being possessed by a _psychotic monster_ from another _planet - universe_ , even?

The ground starts to shake and Coulson can't help but worry that she's going to kill them all. If she doesn't stop soon, she certainly will ...

He tucks himself in close to the door so that the falling rocks don't hit him (door frames are meant to be the strongest part of a house, right?) but it doesn't really work.

 _Shit, he's going to be buried alive._

The entire ground is shaking, but it doesn't feel like that. It feels like his heart is being forced out of his chest, like his lungs are being squeezed and then expanded further than they're meant to go, like each rib is being crushed.

But then, maybe that isn't the ground shaking.

 _Daisy_. Skye -

Why? Why is it that every single thing in his life that goes wrong goes so wrong that it _cripples_ him, every single time? Hurts him so badly that there doesn't seem to be any way to go forward without moving further into darkness.

Akela Amador.

Audrey ...

Ward.

 _Daisy_.

Why Daisy? If it were Joey, or Yoyo (or whatever she's decided to call herself now), or even Lincoln, to an extent, he could handle it. Sure, every loss is hard, but Daisy?

She's like a daughter to him, and everyone knows it.

Is that why Ward - _Hive_ \- chose her? What if it wasn't just circumstance, what if he _meant_ to?

Pain shoots through his leg as another rock land on it. It's agonising and he screams, loud and deep and hollow. He's pinned now; he can't even get to the door. Dust is clogging up his airway so he coughs, but every breath in just drags in more.

He can't breathe, but again, maybe that's not the 'quake.

What is wrong with him? Why is he such a sentimental fool that everything hits him so hard? (Even - he winces - these rocks.)

The lights are gone. He can't see, but it feels like the shaking's stopped. Which means that Daisy's gone.

A song floats around in his head, strange but somehow fitting.

Daisy's gone. He doesn't know if he can get her back, and maybe everyone else is dead and he's on his own, and is there anything else to live for? What are they even fighting for? An organisation so fragile it shrank back into the shadows and pretended not to exist? This isn't like the old SHIELD, so huge and _right_ that nobody even noticed it.

This is war, a pathetic, tiny war that nobody will win before the entire world is destroyed.

And he'll play his role in it.

And then what? Will he die? Will he have a long, happy retirement?

The only two people to ever tell the future are dead, so it's difficult to know.

The darkness is so close that he trips and falls in, just like he knew he would.

It embraces him.

 _Ground control to Major Tom,_

 _Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong,_

 _Can you hear me, Major Tom?_

 _Can you hear me, Major Tom?_

 _Can you hear me, Major Tom?_

 _Can you ..._


	6. predestination (Mack i)

**A/N:** Hi again! Sorry for the wait.

This chapter's shorter than other ones but I wanted to get a chapter up. Sorry if it seems rushed or anything.

It's loosely based off the scene in _Criminal Minds_ when Reid and Morgan are stuck in an elevator, but you don't need to have seen that to understand, and the ending's different anyway.

Many thanks to Juliet Knighly, Guest, and quinnovative (seriously, you're _amazing_ ) for your reviews. They mean so much to me.

Enjoy and please review!

Thanks!

 **TRY NOT TO BREATHE**

 **6**

 **PREDESTINATION**

The elevator stops jerkily in the kind of way that you know is never good. Mack supposes that it's kind of fate and all that, and that he's basically been doomed from day one to have something like this happen.

" _Je_ \- " he starts, but can't finish because the whole elevator shudders.

"Shit," says Fitz, which is a little out of character for him, but right now neither of them are really in much of a position to talk about it.

Mack jams his finger onto the alarm button and doesn't let go for a good few seconds. Then he starts jabbing it again and again so that the deafeningly shrill sound comes in harsh, repetitive bursts. Is it just him or is it getting hard to breathe in here? Fitz grabs his arm. "Mack," he says breathlessly.

"What?" Mack snaps back, beads of sweat already glistening on his forehead.

"I - I just - oh, Jesus." He sighs heavily and sinks to the floor. "Did you know that there are six elevator-related deaths per year? And roughly ten thousand injuries that require hos - "

He presses the alarm button again to drown out the sound. "Not helping!" he shouts.

"Right," Fitz says resignedly. "Um, um, I - "

"You OK, Turbo?"

"I - it's just, um, you know, I - um, small space, not much oxygen, um ... "

Mack stares at him. "Hell, Fitz, I forgot. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You - you forgot. That's good, right?"

"Yeah," Mack says quietly. "And I thought I had it bad."

Fitz seems curious but doesn't push further, so Mack doesn't answer. It'll only freak him out further, anyway, if Mack tells him. Besides, it's probably stupid anyway. Superstition. What kind of person is too scared to use an elevator?

 _But of course the first time he'd set foot in one in eight weeks he would end up getting stuck._

"What do you mean?" Fitz asks eventually. Mack kind of feels like he owes it to him to explain.

He tries to wrench the doors open but they're jammed. He's breathing faster - they both are - and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "My family has a nasty history with elevators. My uncle was the last one, two years back. Before was my sixteen year-old cousin, before him was my grandma. There were more too. Figures I'd be next, all the stuff I do. I won't killed by aliens or any of the other stuff I fight."

Fitz laughs humourlessly. "Figures, I guess."

Mack is surprised he doesn't try to argue; normally someone will tell him that it's stupid, just a coincidence or something. But his entire family, even the ones who marry into it, have a phobia of elevators. "I mean, what's wrong with stairs?"

The elevator dropped a few inches and they both grabbed the wall. Mack exhaled shakily.

"Sorry I had to drag you into it, Turbo."

Fitz's voice remains calm and steady, but he's pale and shaking and looks petrified. "Not your fault, is it? Wrong place, wrong time and all that. Story of my life."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

They stand in silence for a few moments. Mack presses the alarm again hopefully.

Nothing.

He presses it again.

There's shouting outside and they both start shouting too, and banging on the metal walls. Fitz presses the button too.

They can't make out the words that are being said, but eventually the ceiling opens up and the faces of two strangers stare down at them. "You okay?" one asks. They both nod.

The other one throws down a rope.


	7. cowardly (Lincoln i)

**A/N:** Okay, not much needs to be said about this one apart from it's very short and perhaps a little bit rushed and also

 **WARNING MAJOR SPOILERS SKIP THIS CHAPTER IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED THE S3 FINALE**

And also RIP StaticQuake. You were my second favourite pairing in the whole show. Ever.

And also many thanks to quinnovative, Guest and Juliet Knighly for taking the time to leave a review. You people are my favourites.

And also thanks to the ones who followed and favourited. You are my other favourites.

Thanks!

 **TRY NOT TO BREATHE**

 **7**

 **COWARDLY**

Lincoln doesn't like to think of himself as a coward. It makes him angry, makes him want to lash out. Makes him want to drink because even though that's a more cowardly option at least he won't have to know that for a while.

But he knows that knowing you're a coward helps yourself become more brave, and that sometimes only the bravest people can admit that they're not as brave as they should be. When his connection with Daisy goes dead, he knows that there is nothing more he can do, knows that now it's okay to be scared.

Every brave person is allowed a moment of cowardliness before they die, even one who was never really brave in the first place.

He thinks of himself, a tiny dot on SHIELD's radar by now.

Then he looks down at the Earth, because he's always wanted to see the world, and it's tiny and insignificant and for a second he wonders why he just gave his life for a mere coincidence, clumps of matter welded together to create a larger piece of matter which will just float around the sun until the sun eats it ...

And then he thinks of FitzSimmons.

And then he thinks of _Daisy_.

And then he remembers why he's about to die. There's no stopping now.

He breathes calmly, all his fear suddenly gone. There isn't anything to be afraid of any more.

Hive can't hurt him.

Nothing can.

And all this is so peaceful, so _right_ that he doesn't even question the way he removes his seatbelt and floats to the back of the quinjet, next to his arch enemy, the one who stole Daisy from him, the one who was going to destroy humankind ...

Humankind doesn't matter to Lincoln any more.

Nothing matters to Lincoln any more.

It doesn't matter whether or not he's a coward. It doesn't matter that he's bleeding still and that droplets of his own blood are floating around next to him. It doesn't matter how unnatural zero-gravity feels.

The only thing that matters is that everyone is safe, and they are.

He wonders what he'd say if Daisy was still on the line.

 _I love you._

 _You're the only thing I care about._

 _Please forgive me._

She's in his arms and hugging him. "Thank you," she says, and kisses him.

He blinks and looks over at Hive.

There is no Daisy.

There is no world, no right, no wrong, no fate, no quinjet floating around in space.

There is only Lincoln.

The world is beautiful, even if it doesn't exist.

He looks at the timer on the bomb. Ten seconds left to live.

He wants to shout, to scream, to sing. He wants to do everything he's ever wanted to do in these last seconds of his existence, but he doesn't. He just floats.

 _Five_.

Lincoln exhales slowly.

 _Four._

He can't help but think that this is the bravest thing he's ever done.

 _Three._

And the bravest thing he'll ever do.

 _Two._

Because being brave means nothing to him any more.

 _One._

 _Zero -_


	8. fragmentation (Daisy ii)

**A/N:** I'm back again! Sorry for the wait. School's finished now (yay!) so I'll either be updating more or hardly at all. It's kind of unclear.

I know that the first Skye/Daisy chapter was published as Skye's and this one is Daisy's - I've done it so that if it is written before she changes her name, it's Skye, etc. It's labelled as her second one because they're still the same person.

This is not a very long or exciting chapter, but I have the next one planned and that's going to be pretty dramatic, so it's a bit of a filler. I was listening to some pretty emotional music, so it might be a bit weird ...

Many thanks to quinnovative and Juliet Knighley for reviewing, and to those who followed and added this story to their favourites list.

Please enjoy, and review!

Thanks!

 **TRY NOT TO BREATHE**

 **8**

 **FRAGMENTATION**

fragmentation - fraɡmɛnˈteɪʃ(ə)n/ - _noun_ :

the process or state of breaking or being broken into fragments

Daisy thinks she probably skipped the fragmentation stage because her entire life is right here, already broken into shattered pieces of memories and events. Here, a ticket stub to her first ever concert. A quote in her untidy eleven year-old scrawl - _"Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed." - Alexander Pope_ \- and a photo of herself and a former friend sellotaped together from where she had taken the largest pair of scissors she could find and cut it into tiny pieces. It took her two hours to put it back together, she remembers.

 _June 30, 2004 - Returned to orphanage. 26th time?_

A drawing of the motherboard of a computer, precise to the millimetre.

Is this it? Is this her entire life, condensed into this shabby, bulging scrapbook that was overflowing with things she can't remember? Bits of paper, stupid, unrecognisable drawings, quotes, diary entries ... Meaningless. Her history, so expendable. If she didn't keep looking, she'd forget.

She flicks to a later page. There's a drawing of her with Fitz and Simmons on the back of a receipt, done by Bobbi. Then, abruptly, smudged black marker pen proclaims _MY NAME IS DAISY._ After this comes a pressed flower from the Afterlife.

Daisy goes back in time until she reaches a page where she has printed a picture of herself beaming in front of a battleships game, while Ward frowns in the background. Red biro is used on top of it: _Ward is freaking Hydra scum._ In a fit of anger she scribbled out his face. There is a photo of FitzSimmons together, with _Goodbye_ above it in pencil, which she later rubbed out and covered in hearts and flowers, but it is still recognisable. She still knows that it was something of a goodbye, because whatever happened in that pod changed her friends forever.

On the last page, there is a picture of her with Lincoln _._ Underneath it, in careful, perfect lettering, she has written _RIP_.

It's all useless. Someone's left a lighter lying on the table and she touches it to the corner of the book's cover, watching with a kind of grotesque fascination, watching her life burn away in her hands, until the heat hurts her hands and she screams, because that right there _is_ her life. _Shit_. She stamps out the fire but it's too late; most of the book is already ruined. Tears are streaming down her red, blotchy cheeks.

She starts to run.

For a couple of months she's been staying in the cabin where Gordon found her. It's such an obvious hiding space that nobody's thought to look there yet, but she's been monitoring all the frequencies and channels that even whisper about her anyway.

She claws her way out until she's deep inside the pine forest that surrounds the cabin, sheltered by the trees.

When she's sure she's lost, Daisy falls to her knees and _wails_. A pulse of energy bursts out of her, knocking down the trees around her until she's in a perfect circle of destruction.

"Why can't anything go right for me?" she screams into the night. "One thing! One stupid thing could go right for me, and that would be enough! Look at all the people with their normal lives! You make good things happen to them every day, but me? Never! Why does nobody understand that _I am a human being_?!"

And then, in the distance, she hears a faint voice.

 _Daisy?_

She sits and listens to it get closer, until Mack bursts out of the trees.

"Stay back!" she shouts, throwing out her hands. He's caught her off guard.

Slowly, slowly, he puts his gun on the floor. "I'm not here to hurt you, Daisy," he says, as if it makes a difference. "I'm here to take you home."

She doesn't have a home.

"Then you're too late," she spits, and turns to run, but Fitz somehow materialises in front of her.

"Daisy," he pleads.

Mack's gently taking her wrists. She tries to struggle free but he has a grip of iron, so she uses her powers to get free. He flies away from her and Fitz goes straight to him, so she runs again, sprinting into the shadows before they can so much as shout.

The trees press in on her, protecting her. Guarding her.

They understand her if no one else will.


	9. make it all okay (Fitz i)

**A/N:** Well, this is ... slightly more intense than it should be. For those of you waiting for some action, this is probably about as good as it's going to get. Sorry if it seems a little rushed at first; it's mainly about getting to the part where poor old Fitz starts to panic.

I listened to Tom Odell's album _Long Way Down_ while writing this, if you want some background music ( _Can't Pretend_ is a good one to listen to). The title is from the R.E.M. song _Make it all Okay._

Also, I'm just about out of ideas, so I'm looking for prompts. Any prompts. Sentences, lines, plot bunnies, even just single words or phrases. Anything.

Many thanks to 1248 and Juliet Knighly for taking the time to review. Also thanks to those who followed and added this story to their favourites list.

Enjoy and please review!

 **TRY NOT TO BREATHE**

 **8**

 **MAKE IT ALL OKAY**

There is a thick covering of cloud over the dark sky and it's somewhat eerie having the only light for miles coming solely from his headlights. The lake beside them is like a smooth black mirror in the darkness. Fitz looks over at Jemma, about to say something on the subject, but notes that she is fast asleep, hair loose over her shoulder and the side of her head resting against the car window. He smiles to himself; Jemma seldom if ever gets drunk, and when she does, she is startlingly good at hiding it, preferring to leave and sleep it off as opposed to drinking more and making a fool of herself. He doesn't know how she does it, as intoxicated as she must be, but ever since the unfortunate incident with Aaron Jakobsen at the Academy she has been alarmingly good at it.

The other car comes out of nowhere, dark, with no headlights, going slowly but not slow enough to stop before the inevitable collision.

And just like that, they were spinning off the road and through the feeble barrier beside it and into the lake. Jemma wakes just long enough to scream before they plunge into the water.

There is a moment of silence while he takes in the surreality of it, and then the _reality_ of it - the whole thing, happening again, except this time it's a mistake and he knows what's going to happen anyway. Water rushes in on all sides and he knows he has thirty seconds, maybe less, before the car fills completely and they're both screwed.

 _Jemma_.

She's slumped forwards in her seat, a nasty-looking gash on her forehead. Water is coming in through a smashed hole in her window. Her eyes are closed.

It's so cold and he's shaking too much to find a pulse, so instead he releases her seatbelt and his own and pulls her into his lap, taking a deep breath before the car fills completely. He fumbles with his door but it won't open.

 _He's trapped underwater and his bloody car door won't even bloody open._

 _This is_ not _going to be, after_ everything _he's been through, how he dies._

He pushes himself to Jemma's broken window and slams his hand into the glass, shattering what's left of it until there's a gap big enough for a human. He climbs through, never letting go of her, and starts to pull her out too, but the car is sinking at a much faster rate then he is and she's caught against its roof.

 _Damn_.

Finally he drags her out and blindly starts kicking for the surface (what he hopes is the surface, at least. In the dark he can't see anything). His lungs burn, as do his legs. He isn't a strong swimmer at the best of times and with a tuxedo and heavy leather shoes, as well as a dead weight tucked under one arm, he's finding it near impossible. He should have listened to Mack when he suggested taking up running.

Fitz is ready to give up when, quite suddenly, he bursts out of the water, sucking in delicious mouthfuls of cold air. He pulls Jemma up to the surface too, but he can't see he draw in any oxygen.

The shore of the lake is a surprisingly short distance away. There is no beach, only a patch of rushes which he grabs onto to pull himself and Jemma out of the water.

As soon as she's out, he sits down and splutters the water out of his lungs until he notices a man staring at him.

"I'm so sorry," he says. "The lights didn't work. Nobody usually comes along this way so Becky told me it would be fine ... Oh my God. Was there anyone else in the car? Have I just - _oh my God!_ She isn't breathing!"

Fitz jumps up. "Get out the way, mate," he says furiously, shaking with anger at this idiot. "My phone's in my pocket. Get it out and call the guy Coulson in my contacts. Tell him Fitz needs picking up."

"I've already called 911," the man says uncertainly.

"Just do it, damn it!" He starts compressions on Jemma's chest, suddenly thankful for the first aid course she forced him to take with her at the Academy. Most of it went straight over his head, but some parts were drilled into them all so often that he's not sure he'll ever forget.

Of course, he doesn't even know if it's the water that made her stop breathing. It could have been the head wound, in which case this probably won't even do much good.

A shaking hand reaches into his pocket. "It's - it's wet."

"It's waterproof."

He pinches her nose, tips her head back and breathes into her mouth.

He's back to the compressions when water spurts out of her mouth. _What does he do now?_ He turns her head to the side so she doesn't choke and then continues.

"Damn it, Jemma! Do _not_ leave me. Don't you bloody _dare_!"

 _Press. Press. Press._

"Fitz," she whispers. "I'm okay. It's okay. Stop."

He scrambles away from her and outs his head between his knew. _Was this what it was like? Was this how it felt to her when she dragged him out of the ocean?_

Suddenly, his newfound oxygen isn't doing him much good.

Any good at all, it seems, since he isn't breathing.

He gasps but still his vision is swimming and he feels sick.

"Fitz."

 _Jemma_.

"Look at me, Fitz." She's still lying on her back, but she's looking into his eyes. "This is all going to be okay." She laughs but it dissolves into a small coughing fit. "It was just a bloody date night."

"Why can nothing ever go right for us, Jemma?"

"Don't say that."

"It's true. Whenever anything good happens with our relationship, one of us goes off and nearly dies."

"Fitz, it's going to be okay. Have you called Coulson? You know we can't go to a public hospital." He shoots him a meaningful look. _We can't because we're on numerous terrorist lists._

He looks over at the man who hit them. He's evidently been finished for some time, but unsure of what to do, so he's staring at the phone like it's a work of art. (Which, Fitz thinks, it is. He made it from scratch.)

Sure enough, a few minutes later, a black SUV screeched to a halt beside the wreck of the car Fitz crashed into. Skye and Mack jump out, May not far behind. Skye runs to Simmons, while Mack moves towards Fitz.

"You okay?" He asks quietly.

He doesn't mean physically. "Yes," Fitz lies.

It's just like before, only this time it's his fault. _He's_ the one who almost got Jemma killed. No enemies, no assassins or traitors or Hydra agents.

 _Him._

What was it his father told him, on their seaside holidays when Fitz was tiny?

 _The water always takes what it wants._

Does it want him and Jemma?

Does it matter, he wonders, as Mack pulls him up and into the car, and then goes to help Jemma because she's struggling to walk on her own.

Does it matter? Because nothing can ever make this okay.


	10. problematic (Bobbi i)

**A/N:** Hey. It's been a while since I last updated, but I've been pretty busy, with the netball and (field) hockey seasons starting up again, so at least I have a half-decent excuse.

I apologise if Bobbi seems OOC at all during this chapter. I tried to stick to the facts, but used a little creative license here because she has to be afraid of something, right? (Other than needles, of course.) Tom Odell's _Long Way Down_ if you're looking for something to last the five seconds it will approximately take to finish this chapter. Sorry it's so short, but short update is better than no update, right?

Many thanks to Sanctuaria, SarahDoll165 and parisindiny for taking the time to review, as well as to those who followed and added this story to their favourites list.

Enjoy and please review!

Thanks!

 **TRY NOT TO BREATHE**

 **8**

 **PROBLEMATIC**

Problem is, she's scared of heights.

Not directly, of course - not _oh-damn-I'm-having-a-panic-attack-and-can't-breathe_ scared, at least. Just enough to make jumping off a who knows how many floor building into empty space with a bustling city down below fairly ... _interesting._ Yes, _interesting_ is a good word for it. Not terrifying, not exhilarating or enjoyable. Uncomfortable. Disagreeable.

It's these moments (hell, not the high speed gunfights or the times when someone dies) that make Bobbi think that actually sometimes she kind of enjoys her life and maybe she'll fall on someone's head and _oh, I get my pay check tomorrow_ and also, for better or for worse, that she has some really nice veg in the fridge and it'll be a shame to let it go off.

All the while, Jemma Simmons is screaming beside her and she's flying and falling and _oh shit her ankle_ and she somehow manages to land on her feet on top of a quinjet.

 _She's stood on a quinjet._

And for a split second, there's noting below her but empty air and she panics that she's falling -

The plane comes into view beneath her and she relaxes slightly. Simmons (Bobbi can't for the life of her work out why) is _laughing_ , in a kind of death-cheating way, and then Bobbi remembers that she's stood on a quinjet and she tenses up and then wobbles -

 _Shit shit shit shit shit -_

Even though she has more than enough room to fall over and stay on the jet, she's suddenly shaking and the wind's whipping all around and she's feeling a little dizzy, but that's when she notices that a hatch has opened and Simmons is climbing in, so she follows.

There is conversation.

Somehow, she is unconsciously joining in.

But deep inside, she's just imperceptibly shaking. Shaking like a leaf in the wind. She's so small. So inconsequential.

 _It's such a long way down._

She smiles but all she wants to do is sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep and pretend that it's all a dream, because when she wakes up, suddenly it won't be so bad.

Then she remembers that Hunter's at the base and he'll be interrogating her for about six days before he finally runs off to some secluded area with a large amount of alcohol, to "think things over".

"Bobbi?" Mack says, breaking her out of her trance.

She blinks. "What was the question?"

"What's up? You're staring."

She has a habit of staring at the ground when she's thinking deeply. She's probably doing it now. "Hunter," she says vaguely.

He laughs and Simmons looks at him quizzically. "He's the one who almost shot you," he explains.

They start a new conversation and Bobbi braves a look at her hands. They are perfectly steady.

She doesn't see what was so bad, looking back. It wasn't that high, right? She didn't even panic that much. Not enough to need help.

It isn't like it's getting any worse, and she's always had it under control.

Agent Bobbi Morse always has things controlled.


	11. never turn back (Lincoln ii)

**A/N:** Me again, sorry for the wait. I won't say much about this but I'm sorry it's so short. Dedicated to SarahDoll165.

Many thanks to Sanctuaria, ncat95 and DarknessAndDeath (x9!) for taking the time to leave a review, and to those who followed and added this story to their favourites lists.

Enjoy and please review.

Thanks!

 **TRY NOT TO BREATHE**

 **11**

 **MAD WORLD**

Of course it isn't his fault.

How could it be his fault?

None of these reassurances in fact do anything to stop the crushing flood of guilt that boils up through him when he sees how still and broken she looks, but it's nice to at least have one piece of information. It's been months since Lincoln left, and he had all but forgotten about SHIElLD, the Afterlife and all the other crap that went down - just not Daisy. Never Daisy.

He still thinks about her, thinks about how she changed her name and how he likes it and probably likes Daisy more than Skye ... she hasn't been in touch, and he's glad, because however much he's dying to see her again he doesn't _want_ to go back to the dangerous life. He has a job, colleagues, friends ... No matter how much he enjoyed the company of Daisy's friends, he doesn't want to constantly be looking over his shoulder.

(Of course, he does enough of that anyway.)

The morning has been relatively normal but then Daisy stumbled in and collapsed during his lunch break. He went to his supervisor saying that he'd just received news of a family emergency and if he didn't leave now he might not make it in time, dragged her unconscious body into his car and left. Now they're at home, she's slumped on his bed and every door and window is locked with the curtains drawn.

"Daisy," he says, shaking her gently. She mumbles incomprehensibly. She has some bumps and bruises, a concussion and not much else, but the concussion is worrying enough. In retrospect, it was not perhaps the most intelligent idea to remove her from the hospital, but he doesn't have a clue how ordinary tests will react to her Inhuman abilities (or indeed how her Inhuman abilities will react to ordinary tests) and doesn't think he can risk exposing her, not without her knowledge.

What the hell happened here? Where are Simmons and all her science friends or whatever they're called, and why haven't they helped her? Are they dead? Was Daisy the only survivor?

" _Daisy_ ," he repeats, firmer this time, and she still barely reacts. He gets out the small torch on his keychain and shines it in her eyes, one by one. Definitely concussed.

Slowly and carefully, he patches up the cut on her temple, and then goes to wash his hands. There is a sharp edge on his tap, one that he usually avoids (he's not got the money to fix it at the moment). His hands are shaking, and he cuts his finger. The tap water runs pink. His blood mingles with hers and he struggles to remember which is which and then, all at once, it starts happening. He remember the feeling well, from countless nights as a teenager, and then later, after the drinking and the accident, and when he was learning to control his powers. It isn't important. It isn't even a fully fledged anxious disorder, really. The attacks aren't serious; the doctor told him to eat healthily, exercise regularly and avoid triggers; it isn't anything to worry about. Everyone goes through phases, and this is his.

But his whole body is shaking. He's sweating, his vision focusing in on his hands, unable to refocus ... his heart is pumping fast, too fast. There is a faint roaring in his ears, more of an echo than anything else. The air conditioning in here is broken and he suddenly registers how suffocatingly hot it is in the tiny bathroom. It's hard to breathe.

Lincoln staggers back out into the bedroom, where Daisy still lies. Of course it's his fault. He's the one who left. She was always reckless, but he stayed there and kept her in check and _now_ -

(He doesn't want to think it, but what if she dies?)

(What if she dies and it's his fault?)

Everyone has their solutions to the attacks. Lincoln creates sparks. He holds his palms out facing each other and plays catch with them, sending one burst of electricity to be absorbed into one hand before sending it back again, watching the flashes of blue, watching the regular pattern until his breathing slows down again and he relaxes.

It seems to take hours. Perhaps he blacks out for a while, because as he blinks himself back into awareness, Daisy is stirring and she's looking over at him and smiling and croaking apologies and asking where she is. And he finds himself standing and smiling back and asking how she feels and checking on her, and maybe he doesn't have to hide any more. Maybe he can go back.

And then he curses himself for wanting that life back, and busies himself inspecting her head wound, and prays she doesn't notice the tremor in his hand that he can't seem to force away.


End file.
